At some point in life the world's beauty becomes enough. You don't need to photograph, paint or even remember it. It is enough. No record of it needs to be kept and you don't need someone to share it with or tell it to. When that happens — that letting go — you let go because you can.

Sweet, she thought. He must think I can't bear to hear him say it. That after all I have told him and after telling me how many feet I have, "goodbye" would break me to pieces. Ain't that sweet. "So long," she murmured from the far side of the trees.

A friend gathers all the pieces and gives them back in the right order.

To get to a place where you could love anything you chose--not to need permission for desire--well now _that_ was freedom.

There is nothing of any consequence in education, in the economy, in city planning, in social policy that does not concern black people.

All art is knowing when to stop.

A dream is just a nightmare with lipstick.